My husband’s parents gave us the gift of a timeshare; far up on the coast of the Pacific Northwest. It was only a couple of hours away from home, but it might as well as been four time zones.
With limited technology and only a television to contend with – we haven’t had access in years, so it’s fairly easy to pretend it wasn’t there – there was time for seaside exploring; hours of book reading; extended time to journal; and just time to be still.
I continue to be sometimes surprised at my own evolution as a person. The girl who once lived for the hum of city life; who couldn’t let a week go by without stopping by Nordstrom, Gene Juarez, or any other number of overpriced shopping haunts; who didn’t want to wander too far away from the latest happenings – she’s given way. Now, I’m the woman who stays away from the mall and shopping and crowds as much as possible, who shops online – and then mostly for books; who yearns for long, wild grass and grey oceans with pale skies above.
Sometimes grace notes are things – I still love my pretty things around me. But sometimes grace notes are the quiet times; the still times; the sacred moments of space that buffer us from the crowding, demanding necessities of the everyday.
Sometimes grace notes are just the space to breathe.
Deeply.
Fully.
Until you are so satisfied with just the sound of your breath,
that nothing else matters.
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It is easy to forget how pleasurable those peaceful moments can be while you are caught up in the hustle and bustle of every day activities.
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